


Little peck

by imera



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 14:30:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imera/pseuds/imera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She told him it was tradition back at Winterfell, to kiss the champion's cheek after he'd won.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little peck

**Author's Note:**

> A quick something I wrote after feeling inspired, almost wish it had more, but I'm not sure what would happen if I decided to continue.
> 
> First try at the fandom, and unbetaed

“Sir Clegane,” Sansa spoke, her voice as soft as the richest silk in all the land.

He stopped but didn’t turn. “I’m no Sir,” he repeated, although less irritated than before. Sansa didn’t care if he disliked her calling him Sir, she was simply doing what she had been taught from an early age.

“Sir,” she called again, refusing to forget her manners simply because he disliked being called Sir. She almost expected him to rudely walk away without answering her, but he surprised her by turning around.

His face was as disfigured as always, and normally a single glance would be more than enough to make her look away, but she refused to turn. She was there for a reason, to feel stronger, braver, and while the first step was small and people would make fun of her it was a big step for her. Sansa might be a bird, saying and doing as she was taught, but she was also a Stark and could be strong and fearless if needed, or so she liked to believe. 

“What?” There was a hint of defeat in his voice, just a tiny bit which Sansa normally wouldn't have noticed, but for some reason she did.

“In Winterfell,” she started, taking a small step towards him. “It’s custom that the lady of the house gives the champion a kiss.”

“I am not the champion,” he stated coldly.

Just as he was about to turn she continued. “You are, even if he gave you the title.” Sansa had wondered more than once if it was Sandor or Loras who would have won the title if they had a chance to go up against each other. She often wondered, but decided that Sandor deserved the kiss either way, for saving a man’s life.

“A foolish move which I’m sure he will never do again.”

“Nonetheless, you’re the champion and I'm offering a kiss.” Sansa wondered what he thought about her as she stood there and argued with him in order to give him a kiss.

“We’re not in Winterfell, you don’t have to hand out kisses to the champions here.” Sansa felt the annoyance grow inside her, and for a brief second she wanted to scold him like she did whenever Arya said or did things Sansa didn't approve of. She decided against it when she remembered who he was, and what she hoped to gain from their short meeting.

“I still want to give you the kiss," she said, determined to get her way. The silence that followed made the situation awkward, and Sansa came to realise she wasn’t used to men rejecting her, especially not when she offered them a kiss.

After what seemed like forever he finally spoke. “If that’s what it takes to get rid of you then go ahead,” His voice was slightly mockingly. A blush blossomed on her cheeks and she thought about turning away, but because she had a goal she kept her eyes on him.

Closing the gap between them she looked up; his brother was called a mountain, but Sansa thought Sandor was just as big. He looked curiously at her before leaning down, turning his good cheek towards her. If he wanted to scare her he would have turned his burned side, so Sansa knew that even if he didn’t want the kiss, he couldn’t mind it that much because he chose the good side. It could of course be because he was self conscious about his looks and found the thought of his burned face as difficult as Sansa almost did.

With a soft touch she turned his head, watching intensely as his burned side was exposed. She could feel the way he tried to pull away from her touch, to stop her from exposing the other half of his face, but Sansa wouldn’t give up that easily.

Not wanting him to win she stood up on her toes and pressed her soft lips against his wounded red skin, surprised at how soft it was. Having barely seen anyone as scarred as Sandor she wasn’t sure what to expect, if he would be in pain, or if the skin would come off if someone did touch it. It did not, and except for the strange texture and colour, it was like any other skin that belonged to an older man.

When the kiss was over she took a step back, his expression a mixture of surprisement and confusion. Sansa struggled to hide her small amused smile, seeing him confused was almost like an award.

“There, a little peck from a little bird.” she joked, her smile pushing itself upon her lips.

“Why did you do that,” he asked calmly.

“Because you were the champion,” Sansa said as if she found his question strange. She knew what he referred to, but wouldn’t give him the pleasure of knowing why. “I should go before septa Mordane comes looking for me.”

She was glad she chose that moment to leave, Sansa didn’t want to give him the real reason why she kissed him and she could see it on him that he wasn’t done asking. Most men wouldn’t be shocked by a kiss, at least they wouldn’t argue against it, but Sansa reminded herself that he wasn’t like most men.

The amused smile grew the farther away she got from Sandor, and by the time she reached her room it had turned into a grin. She was glad that septa Mordane wasn’t waiting for her in her room because she didn’t wish to explain why she was suddenly happy. At least the kiss made her feel braver than she had done before.


End file.
